Mungo is making a big
tornado, and is stirring and simmering it softly so as to make it
strong. I only hope he will not overdo it, as he does six times in
seven, and make it too heavy to get out on to the Atlantic, where
all tornadoes ought to go. If he does the thing will go and burst
on us in this forest to-night.
The forest now grows less luxuriant though still close - we have left
the begonias and the tree-ferns, and are in another zone. The trees
now, instead of being clothed in rich, dark-green moss, are heavily
festooned with long, greenish-white lichen. It pours with rain.
At last we reach the place where the sergeant says we ought to camp
for the night. I have been feeling the time for camping was very
ripe for the past hour, and Kefalla openly said as much an hour and
a half ago, but he got such scathing things said to him about
civilians' legs by the sergeant that I did not air my own opinion.
We are now right at the very edge of the timber belt. My head man
and three boys are done to a turn. If I had had a bull behind me or
Mr. Fildes in front, I might have done another five or seven miles,
but not more.
